


Sweet Dreams and Feathery Touches

by Drarrelie, Janieohio



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Tether(s), Fanart Welcome, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mating Bond, Moving Tattoo(s), Mystical Creatures, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Podfic Welcome, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, Snakes, Veela Draco Malfoy, Winged Draco Malfoy, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29224098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/pseuds/Drarrelie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio/pseuds/Janieohio
Summary: Back at Hogwarts after the war, Harry can’t help but notice there’s something different about Malfoy. But maybe that’s okay, because something is different about Harry too, and although it doesn’t make any sense, he can’t seem to kick the feeling that it might all be related.His friends say he’s obsessing again, but he’s not. He’s just… curious.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 74
Kudos: 440





	Sweet Dreams and Feathery Touches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Drarrymadhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrymadhatter/gifts).



> Happy birthday, chick 💛💙
> 
> We hope this little one-shot will be able to bring a smile to your face; because you’re worth it, lady, and we love you. To get some inspiration for what to write, we rummaged through your old rec requests on FB and tried to mix a bunch of them together in this little hotchpotch of a story. We hope you like how it turned out.
> 
> Neither of us have ever co-written anything in this manner before, but once we figured out how we wanted to do it, we both found our roles quite easily and had such fun writing this fic for you. So, if nothing unexpected happens, we’re definitely going to write more stuff together in the future.
> 
> Also, thank you [Ladderofyears](/users/Ladderofyears) for the beta and Brit-picking you did to make it even better. Your love and support have been very much appreciated.

* * *

_For L._

_Let your dreams be your wings and your heart be your guide._

* * *

Harry jerks awake. 

Heart pounding, he stares up at the canopy and listens to the comforting sound of boys sleeping all around him. It’s familiar, like an old song he’s heard a million times before, and yet…something is different tonight.

But what?

With his eyes fixed on the red velvet above, he goes through each sound, ticking off each one in his mind, as if from a checklist. Neville’s snore, check. Ron’s mumbling, check. Low murmurs from Dean and Seamus’s bed—officially Seamus’s bed, but they’ve hardly slept apart since Fifth Year—check. The brisk wind outside, whipping against the tower’s windows, confirming his place in space and time; Scotland, late November. Check. 

_“If one insists on being awake, disturbing rest, one could at least pet.”_

The hissing comes from Orion’s spot next to Harry’s pillow and Harry smiles at the sound.

_“Sorry. Something woke me and I’m not sure what.”_

He reaches over and runs his fingers down Orion’s spine, gliding over the corn snake’s emerald scales, warm from sleeping next to Harry and absorbing his body heat. Harry moves his hand to pet the flat part of Orion’s head, eliciting a little moan of pleasure from the snake—or what sounds like one to Harry’s ears, anyway.

_“Was it same dream again?”_

Harry shakes his head, trying to recall. _“No, I don’t think so.”_

Then he feels it. A pulling sensation in his chest, like a rubber band constricting, urging him to get up, urging him towards… 

_“The Owlery?”_ Harry hisses in question. _“Why do I feel the need to go to the Owlery?”_

Orion yawns. _“Humans always have strangest urges. Is misfortune one can’t tell what to expect up there before forcing both to leave such warmth for horrid, horrid cold — as both know one will.”_

 _“You’re a genius.”_ Harry pulls back his bed curtains and steps out onto the cold stone floor. He casts a quick, low-level _Lumos_ and begins to rummage through his trunk. As long as Ron didn’t take it the last time he slipped off with Hermione, it should be right— “Found it!”

“Harry?” Hermione’s sleepy voice comes from the bed next to his, muffled by the drawn curtains. 

Well, that explains why Ron hasn’t snuck out tonight. Harry refrains from commenting on the matter and wills himself not to think about what his best mates have been doing with him asleep in the same room. He looks down at the Marauders’ Map in his hands and knows Hermoine will insist on getting herself involved if he tells her what he’d been searching for. “Sorry. It’s nothing. Just looking for a jumper.”

“Do you want me to cast a Warming Charm for you?”

Harry’s heart melts just a little at her offer, and his budding irritation evaporates in a flash. “No, thanks, I’m fine. Don’t want to risk it getting too hot for Orion. Now go back to sleep, ‘Mione. Sorry if I woke you.”

“M’kay. Night.”

Harry crawls back into bed, closing the curtains, and Orion slithers over his hand to wrap himself around Harry’s wrist. The pull in his chest is getting stronger, stretching tighter. _What the hell is going on?_

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he says in a whisper, and the map comes to life. Pointing his lit wand down towards the map, he traces the lines, tapping the parchment to scroll to the castle grounds. He finds the Owlery and squints in the dim light, looking closer, making out the name he’s followed on the map for years. The name he’s not at all surprised to see.

_Draco Malfoy._

* * *

The first time Harry saw Draco Malfoy after the war had been at the other boy’s trial. He’d looked lost, beaten; his hair without lustre, his features drawn tight, his slim frame much too thin.

And his eyes… His eyes had been bleak, and when they’d turned to meet Harry’s, there had been no hope to find in their misty-grey depths. Harry will never forget them. They reminded him of how Sirius’s had looked that first time they met. 

Harry testified on Malfoy’s behalf, and as he did, he noticed confusion swirling in those eyes. Confusion, and a slight glimmer of hope breaking through the stormy grey. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to satisfy his conscience that he’d done the right thing, and he left the other boy in the courtroom, ready to go on and live his life. 

The next time he saw Draco Malfoy, they were on the Hogwarts Express, two of the many eighth-year students ready to return to Scotland for a second chance to finish their education. Draco was one of only three Slytherins returning from their year, Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis both close by his side. Over the next few weeks, the trio was never seen apart, banding together for support, safety or solidarity. Harry wasn’t sure what, but if he’d felt curious about Malfoy, if he had wanted to talk to him alone for Merlin knows what reason, he couldn’t. 

Until the day Harry had decided to borrow Pigwidgeon to deliver a letter.

He had walked up to the Owlery, only to find Malfoy there, alone. He hadn’t been in the letter room, the heated space where students could find writing supplies and owl treats, but was standing with the hooting birds out in the roost.

The smell out there, with owl droppings, pellets, and feathers littering the floor, was usually enough to deter anyone from staying longer than necessary. But Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. He just stood there by the open window, lost in thought, looking out over the fiery autumn colours of the Forbidden Forest. Harry approached with caution, unwilling to interrupt whatever thoughts were running through the boy’s head, but Malfoy turned his gaze towards him, and the look in his eyes was one of longing. Harry remembers himself thinking the boy must really wish he could escape this place and fly far away. 

After that first encounter in the Owlery, the scene seemed to repeat itself, with Harry finding more and more reasons to send letters, and with Malfoy being there nearly every time, his gaze lost far away amongst the clouds in the sky.

* * *

 _“Pale-one looks at one like pale-one wants to mate,”_ Orion told Harry one day after another encounter sometime in October. _“Ones should mate. One smells like one wants to.”_

Harry snorted. _“You’re a snake. What do you know?”_

_“Knowing one likes how pale-one looks. One always watches pale-one.”_

Harry considered. He did like the way Malfoy looked these days, so much better than that day at his trial. His hair practically glowed with health now, and his skin looked so soft, so smooth that Harry itched to reach out and touch it, just to find out if it felt as perfect as it looked. And the one or two times they’d bumped into each other in the hallway between classes, Malfoy had smelled of caramel and oranges and tea; a most intriguing smell.

It didn’t mean Harry wanted to “mate” with him, though.

_“No, I’m just curious why he looks so different. And, I guess seeing him like this makes me glad I testified for him. Sometimes I wonder if I always make the correct choices, but in this case, it just confirms I did the right thing, you know?”_

_“Standing up for mate is good thing, means one is decent human. Already knowing one is, of course, since one is_ my _human. Wouldn’t ever have bad one.”_

Harry laughed out loud, drawing his roommates’ attention. 

“Harry, mate, your snake can’t possibly be that funny, can he?” Seamus asked. 

“You have no idea,” Harry said with a grin, turning back to Orion. _“He apologised to Hermione. That must count for something.”_

Orion’s answering hiss reminded Harry of an exasperated sigh. 

* * *

Wrapped in his invisibility cloak and with Orion curled around his upper arm, Harry creeps across the grounds to the tower that holds the Owlery. It’s quiet but cold, and he’s sorely tempted to turn back to the warmth of his bed. He probably would, too, if it weren’t for that pulling… It’s starting to get uncomfortable, and Harry needs to figure out what’s going on. 

Hermione would probably say he’s becoming obsessed again. She does say it, actually, so often that Harry can’t even bring up Malfoy in passing anymore. His friends don’t want to hear it. 

He’s not obsessed, though. He’s just intrigued. Interested. Curious. 

And this infernal pull is getting bloody annoying. 

_“They just don’t understand,”_ Harry hisses to Orion. _“I’m not obsessed.”_

 _“Seems_ one _is human who doesn’t understand,”_ Orion hisses back. _“One should follow desire and mate with pale-one already. Would make one feel better.”_

An image flashes through Harry’s mind, of soft, pale skin shivering under his hands and lips, and he swallows as he tries to ignore the twitch of interest in his pants. _“Shut up, Orion.”_

* * *

Harry watched Draco sit down at the Slytherin table, Zabini and Davis taking the vacant seats on either side of him. They didn’t talk to anyone else, just ate their breakfast while speaking quietly to one another over eggs, toast, and steaming cups of tea. 

“Do you think they’re being treated okay by the other Slytherins?” 

“Who?” Ginny looked up from her never-ending flirting with Demelza Robins.

“I think he’s talking about Draco.” Luna smiled and took another bite of porridge. Next to her, holding her hand, Neville merely raised a quizzical eyebrow in Harry’s direction. 

“Harry?” Ginny asked, her voice laced with amused accusation. “Please tell me you’re not doing this again.”

Harry popped a piece of bacon in his mouth and shrugged. “Doing what? I just want to make sure everyone is treating each other the right way.”

“Right,” Ginny said, laughing, and held out her hand. “Where’s your map?”

Harry shuffled in his seat, moving his book bag under his feet so she couldn’t reach it. “What map?”

She burst out laughing. “Exactly. It’s just like your sixth year all over again.”

“How many times do I have to point out — to all of you,” he added with an exasperated look around the table, “that it’s not an obsession if the thing you’re worried about is actually an issue. I was _being aware_ , that’s all.”

His friends all laughed, and— Dammit, he could even hear Orion's sounds of amusement from the snake’s favoured position wrapped around his upper arm.

“You guys are the absolute worst.”

Luna reached out and patted his hand. “It’s okay, Harry. You’ll figure it out soon enough. I have faith in you.”

Whatever that meant.

* * *

“Harry,” Hermione said, taking a seat next to him in the Gryffindor common room. “Maybe you should just try to become his friend?”

“Hmm?” He looked up from his Transfiguration homework. He’d been struggling with this assignment for nearly a week and he still hadn’t found an answer to why it wasn’t working. Maybe he was putting too much power behind the spell? The book said this was a delicate conjuring, and delicacy had never really been his strong suit. But if he tried to cut his power by half, then maybe—

“Are you listening to me?”

“Uh, no. I’m doing my homework. Something you’re usually nagging me to do.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting on her retort.

“Oh.” She looked down at his book, then back up, meeting his eyes with a wrinkled brow. “Er, I thought you were doing your whole Malfoy-thing again. Ron said you’ve been muttering about him in your sleep, and that you’re arguing about it with Orion.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “As much as Ron likes to think he understands Parseltongue, you shouldn’t believe everything your boyfriend tells you. And Orion is just teasing me, just like the rest of you. And although I have no clue what I’m saying in my sleep, you’d think it’d be okay seeing as how I’m actually _sleeping comfortably_ for once in my life.”

She blushed. “Well, you _have_ been talking about him a lot lately, and I was just thinking that… What if the next time you run into him in the Owlery, instead of just wondering what he’s doing there, you ask him? Talk to him. He’s really rather pleasant these days. He and I have partnered several times in Ancient Runes, and I think he’d be open to—”

“Hermione. Seriously. Stop. It’s fine. And if he wanted to, he could have talked to me too, you know, any of those times we’ve bumped into each other. The fact that he hasn’t just goes to show that he’s not interested in being my friend. Besides…” Harry stopped himself, thinking better of it. 

“Besides, what?” she prodded. 

He sighed. “Besides, I don’t really want to talk to him until I’ve figured it out—whatever _it_ is. Why he looks different, and why—”

“Why…?”

“Nothing. I just... I’m not ready yet.”

“Harry—”

“Let it go, Hermione,” he insisted, then turned back to his textbook. “I need to get this spell right, so, with all due respect, stop bothering me.”

She huffed and stood up. “Fine, but you’re being stupid.”

Orion poked his head up to Harry’s ear from his spot on Harry’s shoulder. _“Clever-one is right.”_

_“Shut it.”_

* * *

Harry climbs the steps to the Owlery, the pulling in his chest simultaneously loosening yet becoming even more pressing. The urgency has spread, taking over his whole body, driving him forward, step by step, to the top of the tower.

Under his feet, the stairs are littered with small feathers blown down from above. He’s unable to make out their colours in the darkness, but they remind him of something—something important. 

Harry frowns and bends down to pick one up. It’s larger than the others, nearly twice the length of his hand, and something encourages him to raise it to his nose. Caramel.

He looks up the stairway, his breathing becoming laboured. He _has_ to know, _has_ to see, but he’s suddenly terrified of what awaits him up there.

He looks back down at the feather in his hand and recalls the dreams.

* * *

The first dream came on his eighteenth birthday. It was vivid and colourful and real. So real. After waking up, warm and breathless, he hadn’t been able to recall what had happened in the dream, but he could remember what it had felt like. What _he_ had felt like. 

The man.

The only thing he remembered. Harry didn’t know what the man looked like, but he knew he’d felt safe and cared for, and as though he’d be willing to die for this person. But then, it was only a dream. 

Even so, it was enough to convince Harry that perhaps he liked blokes as well as girls, and to realise he wanted more than just a light romance with a friend. He and Ginny had both agreed they wanted more than that after the war, and what Harry wanted was, well… _him_. Whoever he was.

Not that Harry was gullible enough to believe this particular man existed. He just wanted someone who made him feel like _he_ did. 

The dreams returned. Sometimes several nights in a row, sometimes weeks apart, but always the same; the same man; the same sensations; the same feelings there to comfort him whenever he woke up. Safety. Love. Desire. Acceptance. Care.

 _“One smells of mating when one has those dreams,”_ Orion had told him, and Harry had laughed, embarrassed. He _had_ needed to change his sheets a few times after waking up, so he figured it only made sense that he smelled like “mating” to his snake.

He’d soon learnt that his snake had a ridiculous obsession with human mating.

Once he was back at school, the dreams became more frequent and, if possible, grew even more intense. Now, each time he woke, the scent of something sweet lingered in his memory. Vanilla, maybe? Or toffee?

When October rolled around, and Harry’s trips to the Owlery increased, he began to dream about feathers. Unsurprisingly — there were feathers strewn everywhere up here. But unlike regular owl feathers, the feathers in his dreams were large and soft, gorgeous, almost shimmering. And they begged Harry to reach out and stroke them, to run his fingertips along their shafts.

He told Orion about it, hoping he might have an idea. _“And one insists one’s mating is_ my _obsession,”_ he responded nonsensically and turned away, going back to sleep. 

At least Harry was sleeping well. Now, if he could only make sure everything was okay with Malfoy, if he could figure out what was going on, he’d be able to concentrate on his studies and have a normal, final year at Hogwarts.

* * *

Caramel. Feathers.

Harry’s stomach clenches and he gives in, finally allowing his body to rush the final few flights of stairs to the top of the tower. 

He looks down at the feather in his hand and smells it again, letting out a subconscious hum of pleasure that catches him by surprise.

 _“Insisting on being put down before ones start mating,”_ Orion hisses. 

Harry hears him and makes a mental note of his words, but his mind and body are too consumed to respond. He needs to get there. He needs to know. He needs to— _See._

He is here.

Stepping into the letter room, Harry’s eyes are inevitably drawn to the door leading out to the roost. It’s open just a crack, and through the gap he can discern the subtle movement of something light in the surrounding darkness, something shimmering like stardust in the pale radiance of the moon. A large wing, nearly six feet in height, obscuring the view of a man standing in the window, overlooking the grounds. Harry can’t see the man’s features, but he doesn’t have to. He already knows his name. He’s read it on the map. 

A hiss from Orion catches Harry’s attention, prompting him to place his hand on the desk and allow for the snake to slither down his arm onto the polished wood surface. He shrugs off his father’s cloak, his eyes never leaving the mesmerising sight on the other side of the door as he drops the magical fabric in a heap next to Orion, letting him curl into it for warmth. Heart pounding, Harry moves towards the door, pushing it open, breathless. 

“Draco,” he says quietly. 

Draco stands on the ledge, the toes on his bare feet not even an inch from a deadly fall. With one step, he’d plummet into the night. But then, Harry realises, he wouldn’t fall.

He has _wings._

Harry can barely comprehend any more than that. Wings. Everything else — Draco standing bare-chested in the cold night air; his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, literally glowing — is all secondary. 

Draco turns, meeting Harry’s gaze with eyes drawn in despair. “Harry? Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.” He jumps down from the ledge, turning to lean against it as he shakes his head and lets it fall into his hands. “I’m so sorry, I— I thought I could… I tried to keep you out of this.” 

Harry’s mind is whirling, trying to make sense of Draco’s words, of any of it. But it’s awfully hard, impossible really, when Draco’s standing there before him, all shimmering wings and perfect skin and soft, silver-blond hair. He’s beautiful, ethereal, almost too much to take in, a sight too precious for his simple human eyes. For a fleeting moment, Harry thinks he shouldn’t be here, that he shouldn’t be allowed to witness this. That he probably should turn around and leave.

But, he reminds himself, Draco doesn’t seem surprised to see him here. And he hasn’t told him to go away.

So he stays.

He can’t think straight, not from this distance. He needs to get closer, needs to _be_ closer. Closer to Draco. Confused, intrigued, and dizzy from a flood of emotions he cannot even begin to name, Harry takes several shaky steps towards the man.

“Draco? You’re a-a Veela?” Draco nods silently, looking defeated. “How could I not know you...? No, please, don’t apologise. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Draco’s voice is choked, muffled behind his hands. “I’ve tried… Gods, I’ve tried so hard to suppress it, and I’ve managed it until now, but it’s getting to be too much and I’m just not strong enough to hold it in anymore and… I _had_ to release it, just for a few hours.” Draco looks up and runs slender fingers through his long, blond locks, revealing eyes bright with unshed tears. “I thought if I came out here, if I was far enough from the castle, it wouldn’t affect you as much. You deserve so much more than this; getting wrapped up in my problems. I’m so sorry.” He turns away again, looking out into the starry sky, his wings once more on full display where they hang loosely below his broad shoulders. “I won’t hold you to anything. I promise,” he whispers. 

And that’s when it all finally snaps into place. 

Feathers. Caramel. Dreams.

_Him._

* * *

“Hi, Harry.” 

Harry looked up from his spot under the big cherry tree in the Burrow’s orchard to see Fleur Weasley standing a few yards away, waiting for permission to join him. He’d come to be alone, to think, to work through the confusing mess in his head, the whirlwind of emotions in his chest. But maybe… Well, maybe she could help. 

He and Ginny were over. Not a dramatic break-up by any means, but an amicable agreement after realising they both wanted something different than the other would be able to provide. He wanted something bigger, something more than what he’d felt with her. She wanted something softer, more comfortable than he was able to give her. So he was letting go of his dream of a life with her, and although he knew it was for the best, it still felt like one more casualty of the war. 

“Hi, Fleur. Have a seat.”

She smiled and walked up to him, settling down next to him on the worn wooden bench. Her presence was calming. They’d gone through so many of the same things: the Triwizard Tournament, losing Cedric, fighting in the war, being unceremoniously adopted into the Weasley family. Over the years, she’d become like the big sister he’d never had and he thought that, if anyone, she knew love. She was part Veela, after all. Weren’t they supposed to be experts?

“Ginny said I’d find you out here. You broke up, then?”

He nodded. “We aren’t really the same after…after. And, well, I’ve been imagining what it is that I want, and what we had just didn’t feel right.”

Fleur leaned back on her hands. “That’s normal. There are a lot of people in this world. The odds of hitting upon the one person meant for you on the first try are pretty high, yes?”

Harry considered. “Do you think there’s just one person for everyone?”

“No, not at all. But I do think there are people that, once you choose them and they choose you, will become your one person.”

“Is that how it is with you and Bill?” The words were barely out of his mouth before he realised how personal the question was. “Sorry,” he added sheepishly, “you don’t have to answer that.”

But Fleur simply smiled. “It’s fine. Oui, that’s how it is with Bill and me. But don’t forget I’m Veela, which makes it a bit different for us, too. See, my magic helped me find the person I was most compatible with. It pulled us together.” 

Harry blanched as the horror of that notion rushed through him. “So you didn’t have a choice?”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Harry. I certainly had a choice, and so did Bill. We, either of us, could have walked away at any time and the tether would have snapped. But we were both attracted to the other, and enjoyed each other, so we came to love one another. He is my mate, but if either of us had chosen otherwise, the bond would have dissipated and started looking for someone else.” 

“Oh.” In the quiet relief from Fleur’s words, one question remained on the tip of Harry’s tongue. “What do you mean by a tether?”

“I…I can’t really describe it, but it urged us together at a time when we otherwise probably would have ignored the attraction. There was a war going on, and we were both right in the middle of it. On our own, we were each faltering, but the tether brought us together and eventually made us both all the stronger for it.” 

Harry thought back to the war, to their wedding, to their time at Shell Cottage, and had to agree. They were definitely stronger as a couple. 

“Well, the likelihood of me being drawn into a Veela bond is pretty slim,” Harry finally said with a laugh. “I just wish I knew how to recognise the person for me when I meet them?”

Fleur held out her hand and he readily took it, braving a smile when she gave a gentle squeeze.

“You’ll know.”

* * *

Draco has wings — gorgeous, shimmering wings.

And, he’s a Veela. And—

 _Merlin_...

Harry’s pull towards Draco — like a tether.

Wings. Pull. Caramel. Feathers. Tether. Dreams.

The otherworldly vision of Draco, glowing and magnificent, is the last thing Harry sees before the world fades to black.

* * *

When Harry wakes up after Merlin knows how long, his head is cushioned on something soft and the sweet scent of caramel and orange fills his nostrils as he takes in a deep breath. 

_“…warm bed? What did pale-one do to my human, anyway? Ones are both so stupid. Does this mean ones are finally going to mate, because being exhausted from watching ones be idiots? Pale-one had better take care of my human and treat human well, stupid bird, or will be biting you.”_

The laugh escapes Harry without permission, and he opens his eyes to find Draco’s silver depths peering into his own, his brow furrowed in a way Harry’s never seen on this man’s face before. Draco looks… He looks worried.

“Draco?”

Draco pulls back. “Bloody hell, Potter, warn a man before you go around swooning, all right? I almost didn’t catch you in time, and if you had hit your head at my expense, I’m _sure_ the wizarding world would have been most understanding.”

The sarcastic tone Harry knows so well feels oddly comforting — much more so than the earlier apologies had felt — and he gingerly sits up from his spot on the hard granite floor. Looking around, he realises Draco’s had the presence of mind to move him back into the letter room, so at least he hasn’t been lying in a mound of owl dung — _thank Merlin_. Young Draco, the Draco he grew up with, would have let him fall right into the mess and then busied himself by taking pictures. But this Draco, the Draco he’s been dreaming of for months, brushes off his visible concern with sarcasm.

Harry’s eyes are drawn to the wings spread out on the floor behind the kneeling Draco, and Draco tenses, pulling them in closer against his body. Harry wants, no, _needs_ to touch them, but something tells him doing so would be too intimate a gesture. His hand is already reaching out when he stops himself, just inches from Draco’s shoulder, and clears his throat, meeting Draco’s eyes. 

“May I…?”

“Pott— Harry…” Draco squeezes his eyes shut and swallows before they flutter open once more. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He shifts his weight to his toes and rises to standing in one elegant fluid motion, starting to back away. Harry’s Seeker reflexes are the only reason he manages to grab Draco’s pale arm in time, preventing him from moving too far. 

“Wait,” he manages before his mind is clued in to the soft flesh under his touch, the smooth skin, the pleasant warmth. Without letting go, he hastily — and far from elegantly — gets to his feet, spreading his fingers over Draco’s skin as he takes a step closer. “I just need to know for sure.”

Draco shakes his head slowly, but he doesn’t move away. His eyes, gleaming like molten silver, stay firmly trained on Harry’s as he speaks. “They’re for my mate, Harry. Only my mate can ever touch them.”

“I know.” A shiver runs down Harry’s spine at Draco’s words, and his eyes fall to soft, rosy lips, lingering for just a moment before they return to Draco’s sad gaze. “May I touch them?”

Draco’s eyes widen at the implication and Harry smiles, ignoring his racing heart. “You deserve more too, you know,” he continues, recalling Draco’s words; his rambling apology. “You’re trying to make amends, to be more than what your father raised you to be. I feel like I already know you from the dreams, but I want to know you for real too, Draco. The real you. I want to know you, and remember.”

“Dreams?” Draco asks, breathless. He’s incredibly still, but there’s a twitch in his wings that catches Harry’s eye. 

“Mm-hmm, dreams. Been having them for quite some time now; ever since my birthday. I just couldn’t remember them after I woke up. But they made me want more. They showed me what I was missing, and—” He moves his hand over Draco’s soft skin, sliding his palm along the length of his arm, over tense muscle and up to Draco’s shoulder. He should be freezing cold, standing half-naked and barefoot in the brisk November night, but he isn’t. He’s warm, warm and glowing, and so, so gorgeous. “—and I want that. I want you. Please.”

Draco closes his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile on one side. “When I realised my magic was reaching out for you, that _you_ could be my mate, I was sure I was going to lose my mind.” Then his eyes fling open and Harry’s heart clenches at the sudden panicked look on his face. “Not literally. I know there are all kinds of rubbish stories out there about Veela bonds, but… Harry, my life isn’t dependent on you accepting me or anything. If you don’t want this, if _we_ don’t want this, my magic will let go and eventually find someone else with whom I’ll be compatible. So if you’re doing this out of pity, or if you feel like it’s an obligation, please don’t.”

Harry smiles and brushes his thumb over Draco’s collarbone, hoping to reassure him. “I don’t. And I’m grateful for your concern, Draco, but if I didn’t want this, your magic wouldn’t have pulled me in, right? If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here to have this conversation.”

Draco seems to consider, then takes a deep breath and spreads his wings.

They’re magnificent. Shimmering in the pale moonlight, they reach nearly nine feet wide on each side, the largest feathers similar to the one Harry found on the staircase on his way up. The same heady caramel smell wafts over Harry again, stirring his body’s interest.

“It’s the wings I smell, then? Merlin, that’s lovely.”

“Smell?” Draco frowns. “You can smell them?”

Harry nods. “In my dreams at first, and then later when I bumped into you in the corridors. Nothing like this, though. Nothing like tonight.”

Draco looks as though he’s unsure of what to say, his mouth open but speechless. However, his eventual reply speaks louder than words as he curls one of his wings around his body in invitation, allowing for Harry to reach it.

This close, Harry can see delicate spines of silver threading through the pale feathers, reflecting the light. He slowly extends his arm, giving Draco time to pull away before he bites at his lip and runs a trembling finger along one of the beautiful feathers. 

Draco groans and his long lashes flutter before Harry’s eyes. 

“Can you feel that?” Harry asks, amazed. “I barely touched it.” 

“They’re very sensitive. It’s why only my mate can ever touch them.”

“They’re so soft,” Harry murmurs and spreads his hand just as he did on Draco’s arm. Under his splayed fingers, the feathers seem to fluff out, little bits of down poking out from underneath the long flight feathers on top, drawn to his skin as if by magnetism. 

“Oh, Gods,” Draco moans, and Harry stops himself from burying his face in the feathers like he wants to, eager to smell them up close, to feel them caress his face. 

Instead, he watches in awe as Draco’s eyes darken from his touch, as his gaze grows more intense than Harry ever thought possible. He watches as Draco’s angelic features tense, as his sharp jaw clenches, and he realises Draco is trying to hold something back, fighting desperately to keep his true feelings from his face. Harry can’t help the smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Tell me.”

Draco lets out a harsh laugh. “You’re such a prick, Potter,” he says with a strained voice and an exasperated headshake. “If you can’t tell I’m currently using every last bit of my restraint not to rip your clothes off your body, then you’re a blithering idiot.”

Harry gasps, feeling his eyes widen as a potent mix of alarm and desire gathers in the pit of his stomach. “Well, that sounds…intriguing.”

“Truly,” Draco deadpans, but he steps closer, close enough for his hot breath to ghost over Harry’s cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

Blinking up into Draco’s grey eyes, Harry can hardly believe this is happening. But as soft feathers brush the back of his hand, he readily relaxes into the caress. “Please.” 

Draco leans down the inch or two necessary to reach Harry’s mouth, and his lips are warm and pliant as they brush lightly over Harry’s, setting him on fire with nothing but a barely-there touch. A little more pressure, a faint needy whine, and then Draco plunges. His hands curl around Harry’s cheeks, taking Harry’s face between them, his fingers stroking over Harry’s jaw while his wet tongue outlines Harry’s lips and then dips inside. 

Draco tastes sweet, but like nothing Harry could ever describe. He tastes like…well, Draco, he supposes, and the notion is making him dizzy. The feel of Draco’s tongue brushing against his own, learning the contours of Harry’s mouth, has Harry craving to do the same. Reaching up to wrap his arms around Draco’s neck, Harry pulls him closer and pushes back into Draco’s mouth. It’s hot and wet and eager, it’s lips and tongues and teeth, and the intimacy of the give and take, the push and pull, makes Harry want so much more. Running on instinct, he moans and pushes his hips forwards, prompting Draco to gasp and pull away. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing heavily. Harry tries to catch his breath, gaze fixed on the man in front of him, his kiss-swollen lips, his flushed skin, his heavy-lidded eyes. 

“That was…” Harry begins before realising his vocabulary has been swept away in the flood of emotions. 

“Quite.”

His eyes are so dark, barely a sliver of grey framing the black pools of longing and desire, and Harry has to avert his gaze to keep from initiating another desperate kiss. In search of distraction, his attention is drawn to a small mark about the size of a Galleon that he, oddly enough, hasn’t noticed on Draco’s collarbone before. Squinting in the dim light, Harry takes a step closer.

“I’m not going to jump you,” he promises, noticing Draco’s shoulders tense. “Yet.” He flashes Draco a mischievous grin and revels in the low rumble of Draco’s answering chuckle. “You have a tattoo?” he asks superfluously as he raises his hand to trace what indeed looks like an intricate tattoo of a leafless tree. At Harry’s touch, the tree blooms with leaves, surprising him enough to quickly withdraw his hand as if he’s been burned.

Draco sucks in a sharp breath, then tries to look down at the tree which is now back in its previous, bare state. “I can’t— Let me see your neck, Harry. I want to see what it looks like.”

Confused, Harry pulls down the neckline of his jumper. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll have one too,” Draco murmurs, lifting a trembling hand to run his fingers down Harry’s neck. When he hits a spot halfway between neck and shoulder, approximately the same place on his collarbone as where Draco’s tattoo is, Harry nearly chokes in pleasure. It’s like the best orgasm of his life, concentrated down into that one spot.

“Bloody hell,” Harry gasps. “Do that again?”

Draco’s eyes flash and he leans down, looking as though he’s going to drop his lips to the same spot. Harry holds his breath, not daring to move. 

_“Are ones quite finished now? Being cold and would much prefer not having to watch ones mate, thanks ever so.”_

Draco hesitates and gives Harry a questioning look. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s berating us for doing this out here. He’s cold and says he doesn’t want to watch us... doing stuff.”

Draco chuckles. “He’s not wrong, you know. It _is_ cold, and it _is_ public. And we should probably slow down anyway.” 

Harry nods. “So what does this mean? I mean...” He leans down to pick up his cloak, then extends his arm for Orion to climb and wrap around. “ For us? Do we tell everyone we’re together? Does anyone know you’re Veela? Can I tell Ron and Hermione? What—”

“Merlin, Potter, breathe,” Draco says, shaking his head in an exasperated ‘what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into’ manner. “You’re such a Gryffindor. Just have to rush into everything, don’t you?”

Harry grins and shrugs. “Absolutely. So…”

Draco holds up his hand and Harry watches in silence as the glow of Draco’s skin dims into nothing and his wings slowly fade away to disappear as if covered by a glamour. Within a minute, Draco looks normal again — as normal as a stunningly gorgeous man can ever look — stepping into his shoes and covering the bare skin of his torso with a light blue, knitted jumper. 

“My friends know, yes, and my mother, of course. I don’t mind if you tell your friends, but please tell them not to spread it around. I have enough to deal with without this getting out.” Harry nods; it only makes sense. Draco offers Harry his hand, and he takes it, marvelling at the strangeness of the simple act. It feels… _weird_ …but still right. So perfectly right. “What do you want to do about us, though?”

“I don’t like to hide. I’ve hidden enough in my life, and…honestly, I’m not sure I could keep this — _us_ — a secret for long, even if I wanted to.”

Draco closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then nods. “Then let’s just tell people we’re dating, all right? Would you mind? Dating me?”

“Well,” Harry smirks, squeezing Draco’s hand, “seeing as how I’m your mate, dating sounds like a good first step to me.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “You know this means I’m your mate too, you idiot.”

Harry pauses, and Orion hisses in curiosity. _“What’s up? One’s heartbeat is racing.”_

_“I guess I didn’t realise until just now that he’s right, that he’s my mate too. It’s kind of scary, I guess. Having a mate.”_

_“Pale-one is right; one is an idiot. Have been saying pale-one is one's mate for months, but one never listens.”_

_“Wait. When did you tell me? You’ve just been going on about how I should shag him.”_

_“How many times must 'mate' word be mentioned before one catches on?”_

_“I— I just figured that was your Parselword for it.”_

_“No. Most of one's fellows smell of arousal and fucking. One smelled of mating. One’s an idiot.”_

Harry just stares at his snake, then notices Draco standing there watching, waiting. 

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing. Just…apparently, he agrees I’m an idiot.”

“Smart snake,” Draco says, smirking.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, only to sigh in defeat when Orion mutters, _“Liking one's mate. Pale-one is intelligent and wise.”_

Apparently, this is how his life is going to be from now on, then, with the two of them ganging up on him at every opportunity. Strangely enough, the thought doesn’t annoy Harry like it probably should have. Rather, it ignites a warm feeling of affection in his chest.

As they start for the stairs, Harry is struck by a sudden thought, an idea that makes him ridiculously excited in multiple ways.

“Wait,” he blurts before he can think better of it, “your wings. Can you actually fly with them? Like, really fly? Maybe even well enough to carry someone else?”

Draco raises an eyebrow over silvery eyes twinkling with mischief. He leans in, his warm breath heating Harry's core as much as his words as he whispers in Harry’s ear. “Yes, and if you’re good, we may even find out what else I can do while flying.” 

An image unfurls in Harry’s mind, an image of himself, naked, his legs wrapped around Draco’s hips while large, white wings smelling of caramel flap through the open sky, keeping them aloft.

Harry lets out a groan that makes Draco laugh. “Come on. We have our whole lives to find out.”

Harry smiles at that. They have time to figure this out, to make it work. The idea excites him more than anything else.

* * *

_Finis_

**Author's Note:**

> For more interaction, please find us, [Drarrelie](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drarrelie) and [Janieohio](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/janieohio), on Tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Sweet Dreams and Feathery Touches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935635) by [badwriterrr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwriterrr/pseuds/badwriterrr), [Drarrelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/pseuds/Drarrelie), [Janieohio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio/pseuds/Janieohio)




End file.
